Just Life
by orbythesea
Summary: Just moments in a life. Pre-series. Many, many thanks to freiheitfuehlen.


_If it had happened, it would have just been life._  
_-Alicia in "Doubt"_

When they set Grace — bright red, thrashing, and screaming — in her arms for the first time, she suddenly feels so _much_ that it's almost nauseating. If she could bear to let go, she would push her away. She doesn't, though, and Grace's mouth finds her breast by instinct. Her tiny body stills, screams giving way to the soft sound of suckling, and Alicia doesn't realize that she is crying until Peter wipes a tear from Grace's tiny forehead.

"My girls," he whispers. "My beautiful girls."

She doesn't remember feeling this way — feeling this much — with Zach. With Zach, there was awe and love and more fear than she knew she was capable of. "What if I drop him?" she whispered to Peter when she thought that the nurse wouldn't hear. "What if he won't eat?" The fear drowned out the rest of it, maybe, made her numb. This is different. With Grace, it's different.

Suddenly, she feels everything that she's been keeping at bay for the past nine months. Love and fear and joy and rage, all wrapped up in one and the tears keep falling until she's sobbing and gasping for air. She has never felt the need to protect anyone or anything as much as she does this tiny creature. She clutches Grace tight, instinctively leaning into her daughter to shield her from the rest of the world.

"I want to stay home with them," she says, and the words surprise her but they're true. They're _so_ true. "I want— I don't want your mom or the daycare or a nanny, I want— "

"Okay," Peter murmurs, taking advantage of her newfound sense of purpose to stroke Grace's cheek with the back of his finger. "Then we'll make that work."

It's as simple as that, and in the weeks that follow she doesn't think twice about saying 'yes' when his father offers to help with the mortgage on the dream house they bought with the assumption that her salary would make it a reality. She feels only the barest hint of guilt when she tells her favorite partner that she won't be back at work after all. She settles into being a mother of two and it's good. She's happy.

When it was just work and Zach, she felt like she was constantly struggling, constantly leaving balls in the air. She would wake up in the middle of the night, drowning in sweat after dreams of missed deadlines or forgotten daycare pickups. She spent nine months almost dreading Grace's arrival, utterly unsure how they could possibly manage one more responsibility and not really believing it when Peter promised that they would make it work. Then Grace was in her arms and she forgot why she ever wanted to juggle anything at all.

For the first time in her life, she strives to attain goals that are _real_, and there's something deeply satisfying about working to be the best mom she can be. It makes striving to be the best student, the best law review editor, the best first year associate seem small and trivial. How could she have ever thought that another hour of document review was worth more than another hour reading to her son or playing peekaboo with her daughter?

"I want the baby to grow up in a house," she had told Peter on their wedding night. "The same house for his whole childhood. And I want us both to be home for dinner. Every night."

"You're nothing like your mom," he had whispered in response. "You don't have a selfish bone in your body."

Still, she feels selfish, spending her days with her children, watching them learn and grow. She is there to see Grace walk for the first time, to hear her first words. She missed those moments with Zach, and it's something she thinks she'll regret every day for the rest of her life.

She feels selfish, but it's still a balancing act. The kids keep her on her toes and it seems like Grace learns to run just moments after her first, tentative steps, and so Alicia spends her days racing after two toddlers and her nights cooking and cleaning so Peter can steal a few moments with them before they go to sleep.

The three of them have the flu on Grace's second birthday. When Jackie arrives with a cake, Alicia answers the door in PJs stained with Grace's vomit and a sobbing Zach in her arms. Jackie frowns and mumbles to herself and Alicia can feel the disapproval radiating off of her and the judgment stings even through the haze of fever and nausea and non-drowsy cold medicine.

Zach bites Jackie's hand when she tries to take him from Alicia, his little fingers digging into her arms so hard that she's sure she'll have bruises. Alicia feels a strange surge of pride, even as Jackie shouts "bad boy!" at her son, and she's quick to defend him. She banishes Jackie to the kitchen and brings both of her children into the shower with her. The water washes away the vomit and sweat and tears then she leaves the kids to sleep before daring to face Jackie again.

"You can't expect them to learn manners if you don't teach them," Jackie tells her as soon as she reaches the bottom stair. "And you shouldn't be answering the door like that, what if I'd been one of your neighbors, what would they have-?"

"They'd have thought that my kids have been sick for two days, their father's in the middle of a trial, _I've_ been sick for a day and a half, and I'm doing the best I can," she shoots back. "And it doesn't matter, because it wasn't the neighbors, so unless you're offering to help with the groceries and the laundry and Zach's nightmares and Grace's diapers then- "

"Are you _asking_ for my help?" Jackie asks. "Because for two years, Alicia, you've insisted that you didn't want- "

"Yes." The admission is painful, and it feels like defeat up until the moment that her head hits her pillow.

"I think I love your mom," she mumbles later when Peter wakes her with a kiss to the forehead and a mug of Theraflu.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "That's the fever talking," he whispers. "I told her we'd wait on candles until tomorrow, unless you think you're up for it. Gracie won't know the difference."

Alicia nods and closes her eyes again. "Tell Jackie I'm sorry," she murmurs. "She brought such a beautiful cake."

"Go back to sleep. It will be just as beautiful in the morning."

"C'mere," she says. "Just stay for a few minutes."

Peter does. He pulls her into his arms and strokes her back. "Did Zach really bite my mom?" he asks.

"He did," she says, and she tries so hard not to laugh but she can't help it. Soon both of them are giggling, her own laughter punctuated by fits of coughing which only make him laugh harder.

"God, I love you," he says.

"Mmm, I know," she mumbles, snuggling closer to him. "Tell me about your day."

He walks her through the day's testimony, describing each witness and objection, talks through his summation and for the first time in a long time, she lets herself miss the law. She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but all that comes out is a yawn, and he presses his lips against her temple and urges her to get some sleep. She dreams of courtrooms, of carefully constructed arguments and perfectly worded motions.

She doesn't act on it right away, but she can't stop thinking about getting back into court. She starts making quiet inquiries about preschools and arranges a lunch with her old favorite partner. Leaning on Jackie gets easier, and she leaves the kids with her to go watch Peter in trial. He's good, but she can't help thinking that maybe he only seems that way because the defense attorney isn't. She could do better. She could win this case.

Over dinner afterward, she's about to say that she wants to go back to work when he asks what she thinks about starting to try for a third baby.

"What do I—?" She blinks, trying to wrap her head around the question.

"I just thought it might be nice to be prepared, for once. To plan ahead." Peter shrugs. "I mean, if you're ready."

Peter shrugs, but she can see the hope in his eyes, see the love and the passion and so she finds herself nodding. She remembers Grace when she was still a baby, so soft and tiny. She remembers Zach's mewling cry, his little fat fingers tugging at her shirt and her hair. Then she remembers sitting at her desk at the clock ticked past midnight. Remembers wishing she could be home with her son in her arms instead of staring at another batch of documents, marking them relevant or not. She thinks _yes_. Of course she wants another one. How could she not? "I'm ready," she says. "I- I'm ready."

She miscarries five days before the end of her first trimester.

"I'm done," she tells Peter a few weeks later. "Two is enough."

He doesn't push her, and she's relieved. Still, she doesn't give another thought to returning to work. Maybe she should, but grief has made her grateful. Loss can happen in an instant, and she doesn't want to give up a moment with Zach and Grace, doesn't want to miss out on anything. And so she is there for Zach's first missing tooth. She's there for bee stings and scraped knees and Gracie's broken leg. She's there for birthdays and school plays and dinner every night. She is a good mom, and it _matters_. It matters more than anything she's ever done in her life.

Owen once described her own parents' relationship as fight-or-fuck, and they've been in that same holding pattern for years, divorce notwithstanding. Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can still hear them shouting. She can still hear the slammed doors and the screech of her mother's tires in the middle of the night. She can still remember coming home from school the day she made the swim team, practically bubbling over with excitement only to find a note from her mother to her dad saying that she'd left for an adventure and would be back whenever she damn well pleased.

Her own children won't have those memories to suppress. Her own children will remember that their mother was there every night to read to them and tuck them in. They will remember that she was there for every first day of school and she was never late to pick them up. They won't remember hearing their parents fight. It's not that they don't fight, but Alicia doesn't yell and whenever Peter raises his voice she quickly shushes him, ushers him out of earshot.

Besides, their fights aren't like her parents' fights. They never fight about the big things, and she doesn't know if it's because _they_ agree or if it's just that her priorities make her agreeable. Their fights are small and petty. Their fights are small and petty until Will moves back to Chicago, and then they don't fight at all.

"You'll never guess who Chuck Malone hired to represent him," Peter says after the kids are asleep. She's half asleep herself, curled up against him on the sofa with a book in hand.

"Your vehicular manslaughter defendant?" she asks, trying to remember. "I thought you were pleading that out."

"Will Gardner still doesn't know how to play nice," Peter says, and the way he says Will's name, it sounds like he's cursing.

"My Will Gardner?" she says, blinking and confused and before the words are out of her mouth, she knows it's the wrong thing to say. "I didn't even know he was back in Chicago," she adds, trying to cover, trying to sound nonchalant. Trying to undo the damage and the years of unspoken resentment.

"'Your' Will is back in Chicago," he says, and there's derision dripping from his words. "I'm surprised you didn't know."

"I didn't know," she says, eyes finding his. "I'm as surprised as you are." _Believe me_, she wants to say, but she knows better. She's not a lawyer anymore, but she still knows enough to know that when someone begs for your trust, they don't deserve it.

Peter shrugs and looks away, and the hard line of his jaw feels like a slap.

"Peter, I didn't know, I promise," she says, and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for the way she sounds like she's pleading with him, hates herself for making him mistrust her at all.

"Is Zach mine?" he asks and suddenly she wishes that he'd slapped her instead.

"How dare you," she hisses. "Peter, how- "

"Answer the question, Alicia." He looks back at her, and where she expected to see anger in his eyes — cold and hot and threatening to explode — where she expects old jealousies, instead she sees tears. "Is our son- "

"Yes," she says, as quickly as she can. "Peter, _yes_." She cups his cheek in his hand, presses her forehead against his. "Zach is yours." It's true, but she doesn't know if he believes her.

"I love you," he breathes before he pushes her against the sofa cushions and kisses breathless.

They let it go at that, but the next morning she can feel a strange shift between them. The way he looks at her hasn't changed, but it feels different anyway. Where she used to see love and trust she sees suspicion and she feels herself withdrawing into herself, into her thoughts. She bites her tongue more than she used to, afraid to say anything that might trigger an argument that she thought had ended when she was twenty-five. Peter put a ring on her finger and she thought that was that, that it was settled. The idea that the foundation of her marriage isn't as solid as she believed is more than she can stand.

Will Gardner is in Chicago, but he doesn't call her and she doesn't let herself call him. They were friends, a lifetime ago, but they haven't talked since Grace was still in diapers. She pulled away from him, or maybe he pulled away from her. At the time, she told herself that friendships were hard to maintain over so many miles when the friends were on such different paths. They were both so busy with their different lives and that was okay. He was a law school friend and she wasn't a lawyer anymore. Now, she doesn't want to risk it. She doesn't want to fight.

When Peter tells her that he wants to run for State's Attorney, she throws herself into his campaign with the kind of effort she used to save for oral arguments. He's always wanted it, and she wants it for him. Wants everything for him. She wants it like she wants him to trust her, wants it like she wants to trust herself.

When he wins, he holds her close as he thanks his supporters, hand splayed wide against her ribs and she is as happy as she's ever been. She feels forgiven, as if her devotion has convinced him to believe, to trust that she loves him as much as she says she does, as much as she _knows_ she does.

His hours get longer and her kids get older and almost overnight they don't need her to pick them up after school anymore. Suddenly she's _Mom_ not _Mommy_ and instead of baking cookies with her kids, she bakes them _for_ her kids and their steady stream of friends who come over to study and play video games. Half of the kids in Highland Park walk through her front door, and it's as exhausting as it is exhilarating, playing host. She is still there for dinner every night, but instead of dinner with Peter and the kids, it's dinner for the kids and their friends and she gets to know all of them. Comes to love all of them.

At first, Peter still makes it home in time to say goodnight to the kids, but he's trying so hard to make a real difference for the community that some nights, they're asleep by the time he gets in. She's almost grateful for those moments of quiet, for the time to do the dishes and put things back in place. She likes those moments when she can just be Alicia, not Mom or wife or Mrs. Florrick. She likes those moments until she starts falling asleep before Peter's car pulls up, likes them until she lets herself feel lonely.

She starts calling him in the afternoon, checking on his schedule. When he says he'll be home, she stays up for him. When he can't make it, she drinks a glass of wine and goes to bed before she has the opportunity to dwell.

Will eventually calls on one of those nights. It's unexpected and she's on her second glass so her voice sounds too loud in her head when she says hello.

"I was playing basketball with Peter," he says. "And I thought I'd call. See how you've been."

"Good," she says. "Really, really good." She laughs, but it's awkward and nothing feels like it did when they were in school, when the future was bright and wide open.

"That's good," he says. "Great, really."

She thinks that he wants to say more, but he doesn't. He tells her he's starting a new firm with Jonas Stern and Diane Lockhart and she tells him about the kids and then it's as if there's nothing left to say. The silence between them isn't comfortable the way silences once were and when he says goodbye, it's abrupt and awkward and she's just a little bit relieved.

She's on her second glass of wine, but turns on the lights and picks up a book, stubbornly refusing to sleep until Peter gets home. She can see the surprise on his face when he walks in, watches until surprise gives way to a broad smile.

"What are you doing up this late?" he asks.

She doesn't say anything, just sets her book aside and pulls him into a kiss. She doesn't ask why he has time to play basketball but doesn't have time to come home for dinner. She doesn't ask when he and Will became friends or how his day was. She has never been a nag and she's not about to start so she just kisses him until his briefcase hits the floor and his hands are in her hair and it's soft and sweet and everything that she needs from him.

Their lovemaking is gentle and slow, and it's as if they're rediscovering each other, fingers mapping familiar paths and making them new again. She didn't realize how badly she needed it until she cries out as she tumbles over the edge, fingers grasping at his shoulders.

He surprises her with a trip to Italy for their anniversary. Jackie stays with the kids and they spend six days talking and laughing and eating their way through Rome. It's like the honeymoon they never managed to take, and she finds herself falling in love with him all over again. He mangles the language and invents stories about history and architecture and he makes her laugh. He makes her laugh harder than she's laughed in years, makes her _feel_ more than she has in years.

It takes a few weeks to slip back into her routine when they get home, but there are PTA meetings and HOA meetings and Peter's busy with a new initiative or task force and it's not long before she finds herself falling asleep alone again. It feels different, though. After Rome, she feels more secure in herself, in her marriage, and she doesn't drink before bed anymore. Peter spends more weekends at home, and she comes back from grocery shopping one day to find rose petals scattered in the entry way, a lopsided cake on the counter, and her husband and children positively beaming at her. Peter wraps a diamond bracelet around her wrist and whispers love in her ear and she thinks that she couldn't possibly be happier.

A month later, she is standing at the cleaners when fifteen years come crashing down around her.

That night, she pours herself a glass of wine and stands in the doorway of Grace's room, watching her sleep. Grace is curled up on her side, legs drawn up and hands resting under her cheek. Alicia wants nothing more than to climb into bed with her, to hold her daughter close and promise her that everything will be okay but she doesn't know if she believes it. Her stomach lurches and she drains her glass to settle it.

In the doorway of Grace's room, she closes her eyes and wills herself not to feel anything at all.


End file.
